Dusty Haven
by flyaway101
Summary: A classic tale of a not so damsel in distress and her not-so completely knight in shining armour in the backdrop of the Wild Wild West. KICK. Rated T.
1. Prologue

**A KICK story with a backdrop in the Wild, Wild West. I know it sounds like a crazy idea, and perhaps it might just be crazy. But if you do like it, I hope you'll submit a review and show me some love.  
So I hope you'll set aside your preconceived notions of the Wild West in the 1900s and join me for the ride, with spurs a-jingling and lassoes a twirling.  
Without further ado - I give you - Dusty Haven. My take on a Jack & Kim tale in the Wild West.**

* * *

Prologue

Sunset was always a special time for Kimberly Anne Crawford. She loved to watch the myriad colour changes across the vast plains. The clouds changing colour from white to gold to pink-gold to red, until they became grey blobs in the sky. The first star comes out in the East, while the sun is still sinking in the West. The plains turn darker and darker until the sky and the earth become one.

Kim strode briskly along the wooden sidewalk, her low heeled boots beating a steady rhythm as she walked. The sky was almost dark now, as she turned the corner and stopped at the sight in front of her.

Two men stood in the half-shadows across the street. One of them held a gun to the other's head. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Holy Mother Mary, her eyes were rounded as she slowly backed into the shadows of the building.

She watched as the man holding the gun raised it and shot the other man at point blank range. She watched the blood and gore fly, as the second man flew back a few feet and dropped. The shooter looked around, and her brown chocolate eyes widened as she caught full sight of him, even under the brim of his hat. She watched as he wiped his face with his left hand, and then moved away.

He had barely gone five steps when she turned around and ran. Ran as fast as she could. She knew the streets, so she was at an advantage. She took little side streets and finally slipped into a barn and found herself in a dark place. She could hear him following her, his heavier footsteps following her.

She hated the dark. But right now, it was her best friend. She ran to the back, and crawled into a bale of hay, holding her breath, trying not to pant. Thank God her dress was black. Through the hay, she watched as he walked through the barn, trying to see through the final slits of light coming through the wooden walls and the open door. She held her breath, and closed her eyes.

He walked around and then bent down to pick something up, before throwing it aside. He stood there quietly, waiting for her to make a move. She opened one eye, for the hay was making it hard for her to see.

Finally, he turned around and walked away.

An average sized man, with a powerful physique. He walked as if he spent hours in the saddle. A black banded bracelet hung off his muscled left arm. He wore a holster on his left side. He was left-handed. His tight jeans were tucked into tall boots, and a pair of spurs on the heels, jingled as he walked. The low brim of his hat revealed the French beard on his chin, framing thick lips.

She sat there, shivering as the night got colder, too frightened to come out. But she was afraid. Afraid to come out, even as it grew pitch dark inside the barn. Not until she heard movement of people outside. There were many feet running outside.

Carefully she stepped out of the hay. A pair of fireflies danced in front of her, giving a little light. Slowly she went to the door, opening it, expecting a hand - at any second to come out and grab her.

People were running towards the body of the man who lay by the sidewalk. She walked with them, realizing ti would be safer for her to stay with the crowd. She looked down at the face of the man who lay there in his own blood.

Who was he? No one seemed to know. He must be a out-of-towner, they said. The sheriff and the coroner arrived. People started drifting away when she saw her father, walking with his friend Happy, both quietly discussing the murder.

"Papa!" She cried, running to him.

"Kim? What're you doing here, gal?" He asked, his kindly dark eyes concerned.

"I... was going to get Julie from Erica's house. She's working on her bridal dress," she explained.

Her father looked at her face, pale even in the dim light of the gas lamps, her eyes wide, dark, and frightened. He put is arm around her for comfort.

They walked to Erica's house, and Julie joined them as they walked back home.

Kim was not her normal chirpy self through their dinner. In fact, she didn't even eat as much as she usually did.

Chuck decided he had to know what was happening with his baby girl.

"What's up, little one?" He asked.

She shook her head, biting her lower lip as she tried not to give away her nervousness. Finally, she looked up to her father's face, "Papa, I saw him!" She blurted out. Her face was pale, her hands shaking, the usual brown chocolately orbs of her eyes now dark with worry.

"Saw whom?" asked her mother.

"The man," she lowered her head.

"Which man?" This time it was her father.

"The man who killed that other man tonight."

Serena and Julie gasped. Chuck frowned. "Did he see you?" he asked.

"I don't know, but he chased me. He might have seen me," She started bite her lower lip so hard it was almost starting to bleed. "I ran, and then I hid in the barn."

"Would you know him if you saw him again?" Chuck asked.

She nodded her head up and down fearfully, a gulp resonating down her throat.

Chuck sat down at his dinner seat, quietly thinking this whole thing over. "Let's talk to the sheriff tomorrow," He said, coming to the conclusion of solving this problem. "Go to bed, Kim and Julie," He said.

Serena and Chuck watched their two daughters walk off towards the stairs to their respective bedrooms. She looked at him, "Do you think Kim's in danger?"

"I don't know Serena. But I reckon I don't wanna find out," He said grimly.

* * *

**That's the start. If you like it let me know. If you don't like it, then also let me know tehe.  
**

**Uh-oh. Looks like this mystery man is quite the predicament. But who can it be? In a review, let me know who YOU think the mystery man is, and you'll get a shoutout, as well as the sneak peek to the first chapter. :)**


	2. Damsel in Distress

**Before I post the next chapter let me explain how apprehensive I am about this story. I realize the concept is slightly mind-boggling. But I can see it in my head.**

**OK so haha I loved all the guesses you guys head for the mysterious man, but it isn't Jack, but I DID love all the lovely input you guys put in. :) Keep reading to find out who the mystery man really is! **

**So with a deep sigh of nervousness, I present to you Chapter 1 of Dusty Haven.**

**DISCLAIMER: YADDA YADDA YADDA ME NO OWN KICKIN IT.**

Just a small note - JLA stands for Jack Leo Anderson, I did this for a reason.. things will be made clear as you read on.

* * *

**Chapter 1: A Damsel in Distress**

_The eagle soared above the high mountains, gazing down on the pine forests below. The red hues of the sandstone mountains, blazed in the early morning light, towering above the pines. The wide open spaces far away to the East lay like a golden blaJMet on the ground. To the West the sky was still dark, the last remnants of night fading away quickly. The clouds ran across the blue of the turquoise sky, like the silver the Navajo made jewelry out of. The eagle flew in circles, lower and lower drifting down. The Pueblo river meandered along the bottom of the ravine, it's water as blue as the sky above, as green as the trees below._

_He looked down through the eagle's eyes, as it flew now as straight as the arrow from a warrior's bow, and gently sat on a high branch. He could smell the pine and hear the rustling sound of the needles in the breeze. Here below the mountains, it was darker, darker than it had been above. He looked around. There were no animals, no birds, nothing moved. All waited still as life._

_'What is this place?' he asked the eagle._

_'The place where you will decide,' the eagle looked at him and answered._

_'Decide what?' he asked, impatient to know._

_'It is only the young that are impatient. Impatience brings no answers. Be still and you will know,' the eagle said._

_He stayed quiet, unwilling to break the silence then._

_'Look!' said the eagle._

_He gazed down on the forest floor. A deer made its way, daintily walking through the green shade. It was white and it glowed with a light like he had never seen before. A light that gave shone on everything around it. It's antlers stood tall, as high as the deer itself, even as it bent its head to eat the grass._

_'There lies your answer,' the eagle whispered._

_He ran across the clearing, towards the deer. It lifted up its head. It's eyes looked at him and he stopped, unable to move. It tossed its head, lifting its front hooves and pawing the air, before turning around and leaping away._

_'No! Come back,' he called unable to move.'Tell me the answer,' he cried._

_The deer vanished into the darkness of the forest, as he whispered. 'No!'_

_He looked up to the trees. The eagle was gone._

* * *

JLA blinked, and then opened his eyes. The brim of his hat kept the sun from hitting his eyes. The remnants of the dream floated into his mind. He frowned. He'd had this dream before. He shook his head to clear it. He knew from the light seeping in under the brim, that it was just after dawn. He could smell the coffee that their cook or cooksie, as they called him was brewing. He sat up and pulled on his boots, before making sure his guns were holstered. He wore two of them, slung low on his hips, one on either side, so it was difficult to tell which hand he used to draw with first. He lifted his hat, letting it hang behind his neck, in the cool morning breeze, to rake his fingers through his dark brown hair, the soft, downy hair, flopping across his forehead and covering the scar just below his left eyebrow. His jaws were darkened by a day-old stubble and felt gritty to the touch. He rolled up his blanket efficiently and whistled.

A white and grey appaloosa cantered over to him, its skin haunches darker than its shoulder where the grey was lightest, it's white mane blowing in the wind. He ran his hands affectionately on its nose and murmured in his husky voice, 'hungry, big fella?' He saddled the horse and swung himself into the saddle, shucking the Winchester into the sheath, after checking its bolt action. He breathed the fresh air in deeply as he straightened up, he loved this hour of the day! A small tug of the reins and the horse trotted over to the chuck wagon.

Po Jianguo had been with their family for years. He and his brother, Po Heng had come to the Circle-A as young boys, looking for work. Their ability in the kitchen though, far surpassed their ability in the saddle, or in roping and branding. So, naturally, one of them came out with the chuck wagon while the other stayed in the kitchen at Circle-A. It definitely helped that they both could shoot their way out of anything. In fact, it was Po Jianguo that had given JLA his first lessons with a six-shooter.

The only thing is, no one ever got their names right. So Po Jianguo became JP and Po Heng became HP.

"JP," JLA greeted him. "Is breakfast ready?"

'Isn't it always?' JP asked him crustily instead. He lifted an eyebrow and smirked at JP. Not many people were allowed to be this familiar with him. But JP was family.

The cowhands were all coming to the chuck wagon, some of them yawning in their saddles. JLA spotted his foreman - JM - coming, making his way towards him. He headed in his direction.

"JM," He took in JM's serious demeanor, and his eyes narrowed. "You look troubled."

"A small group of Blackfoots' are headed this way, boss," JM told him. Nobody knew what JM stood for. At birth, JM was born as Jerome Cezar Martinez. He hated that his parents had never thought he'd grow up. That he'd always remain a nino, a child. So he stopped calling himself Jerome, instead he went by JM.

"How far?" asked JLA.

"'Bout a day's ride," JM hooked his hands through the loops in his well-worn jeans. Just like JLA, he carried two guns, one on either side. "They're comin' from the North."

JLA gave a grim nod. He had no intention to tangle with anyone, least of all the Blackfood. "How many?"

"Bout five of 'em," JM replied, his eyes searching the plains towards the North, squinting them to see better.

"Small party," JLA said. "'Reckon they're probably just out hunting. Not looking for trouble," he said, his eyes now gazing in the same direction as was JM's. 'Let's finish breakfast and saddle up,' he said.

JM agreed, and nodded in compliance. Within a half-hour, they'd finished breakfast and started moving. They were mustering the cattle onto their ranch, before the big trek to Fort Worth.

JLA kept an eye out as they headed North and West. He didn't like the Blackfoot. Too often, all they wanted was trouble. He didn't want any of it. He didn't go looking for a fight, but if the fight came to him, he was ready and able to make a stand. Right now, he didn't want it. He had about three hundred head of cattle that he needed to get back to the ranch before nightfall.

It was around noon, and they were ready to make a stop for lunch, when he heard it. Gunshots! He spun in his saddle. It had come from the North.

'JM!' he yelled.

'I heard it,' JM called back.

JLA signalled with his hand. Two of his hands, Malone, and Tony rode up to him, along with JM. 'You come with me,' he said.

'JM, you keep moving the cattle,' he instructed. JM nodded and ordered the rest to keep moving the cattle, hurrying now.

The three of them spun their horses around and galloped away. They rode with their rifles out, low on the saddles, the hooves thundering on the dry earth, leaping over the mesquite brushes. They rode furiously, until they came to a gully. Then they saw them.

Three wagons, drawn together. The Blackfoot warriors circled them on horses, sending arrows flying through the air, whooping and shooting. Their almost naked bodies, glistened red in the afternoon light. From the wagons they could see puffs of smoke as firing was returned.

JLA reined his horse in and rested the barrel of his gun on his forearm. He squinted down the sight, aiming at one of the Blackfoot and gently squeezed the trigger. He didn't stop to see if he'd hit his target or not, but yelled 'Git!' and the horse immediately broke into a gallop. He saw the Blackfoot laying on the ground, as they got closer, his horse galloping away wildly. The others were milling around, uncertain where the shot had come from.

Malone fired the next shot. It missed its target, but was close enough for the man to feel the singe of the bullet. They turned around, and someone from the wagon shot the man. The Blackfoot were caught in the crossfire! With two down, they suddenly decided to beat a retreat, leaving their dead behind. Turning their horses, they took off across the river bed.

JLA and his men chased them for a bit and then turned around to the wagons. One of the men in the wagons had been hurt in his arm, and a woman was tending to him. There were four men, and five women in the group.

'What the-?' were the first first words out of JLA's mouth as he saw the small group. He swung off the horse and walked towards them. He walked liked he talked, slow, and deliberate, like a man who'd been in a saddle for a long time. His blue jeans clung to his strong thighs, and the spurs on his boots jingled with each step. His hat hung by its strap behind him. He pulled it on, tugging the brim low, shading his eyes.

'What were you thinking?' he said, looking at the tall man who had detached himself from the group. 'Were you crossing Blackfoot country with only three wagons?' he asked looking incredulously around him, shaking his head.

The man stood in front of him, the salt and pepper of his hair and moustache revealing him to be JLA's elder by many years.

'I didn't know,' he said in a soft voice, his hands worrying the hat he held.

JLA's eyes flicked over the group. 'You've got womenfolk with you. They aren't known for their friendliness towards women, y'know,' he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the direction the men had gone. 'You don't head into country you don't know nothin' about, without findin' out something about it,' he bit out. 'If my men and I hadn't heard the shots.' He stopped, clenching his jaws in anger.

He didn't notice that one of the women straightened her back as she heard him speak, and slowly turned around, the Winchester she'd been using still in her hand. She watched him with glittering gray-green eyes as he lashed her father verbally, hot flags of anger on her cheeks. She'd deal with him later, she thought, her grip tightening on her gun.

He drew a deep breath and said, 'which way are you headed?'

'Yerba,' said the man.

JLA cocked his head. 'Yerba?'

'We bought a homestead there,' the man said.

"Well, you're goin' in the right direction," JLA told him. 'Let's move out,' he took charge. 'The sooner we leave here, the better.'

The man looked at him for a moment and then said, "I'm Crawford. Chuck Crawford. And I'm shore glad to make your acquaintance...', he held out his hand.

'JLA,' he responded, shaking his hand, the Circle-A symbol on the gold ring on his right hand glinting in the sunlight. 'I own the Circle-A,' he added. 'You're headed onto my land.'

Crawford looked at him and then said, "We're honourable folks. If we'd know we were close to your land, we'd have asked about it.'

JLA nodded. He believed him. This man was a babe in the woods.

At that moment, the woman tending to the wounded man came up. 'He needs a doctor, Chuck,' she said.

'The nearest town is Yerba, but we have some medicines with us,' JLA responded.

'Thank you,' she said, gratefully.

'My wife, Serena,' Gupta said.

'Ma'am,' ASR doffed his hat, bowing slightly. 'We should leave now,' he insisted again.

They made their slow way back towards the route the muster would have taken. JLA rode shotgun this time. He didn't want a surprise hit and kept a constant eye on the landscape behind him. He breathed a little easier when they got closer to Circle-A land. He'd been so focused on everything else around him, that he didn't realize one of the riders had slowed her horse until she was riding alongside him.

He looked at her in surprise when he saw her. She wore a pair of men's jeans, and a fitted plaid shirt tucked into her belt. A pair of worn low-heeled boots were on her feet, the bottoms of her jeans tucked into them. A blue bandana was around her neck and a stetson sat low on her head. Her long straight black hair was tied with a rawhide string in a low ponytail. She held the reins of her horse expertly in her gloved hands.

'Ma'am,' he said, noticing the long lines of her straight back, held stiffly in the saddle. 'What're you doing at the back? Go ride ahead with the wagons.'

'I don't take orders from you,' she gritted out, without taking her eyes off the horizon in front of her.

'No. But right now, I'm the one riding shotgun and I don't aim to have to look out for you, too,' he retorted.

She turned her head swiftly to look at him once, before turning away.

JLA caught his breath at the flash of those eyes. He blinked. Where had he seen eyes like that before? They were beautiful!

'I'm quite capable of taking care of myself,' she said.

'I can see that,' he drawled.

'You didn't have to come riding to our rescue. We were doing fine without you,' she said hotly, this time turning to look at him fully.

He almost smiled at that, his glance going over her perfect features, the full red lips now compressed by anger, the pink cheeks - pink with anger, no doubt, the flashing brown eyes, the little nose, and the birthmark near her neck. He frowned. He was noticing too much about her. Tearing his eyes away from her, he looked around once more, his eyes taking in his surrounding quickly, assessing and dismissing what was not relevant.

'I sure can see you were taking care of yourself,' he drawled lazily, a smirk on his lips, still not looking at her.

'I was!' she exclaimed.

His lips thinned in anger, the caramel eyes hooding over. 'If I hadn't come when I did you'd have been a squaw by now,' he said through clenched teeth.

'Humph!' she said, tossing her head and turning away. They rode in silence for a while and then she said in a low voice, 'you had no right to speak to Papa that way.'

He looked sharply at her. 'This is wild country, ma'am. And your father made a foolish decision. Bringing women on a trail with no protection is ... ' he shook his head.

'My father did what he thought was best for us,' she insisted. 'You don't know him and you don't know us. So don't pretend you know what's good for us,' she finished. She kicked her heels into her horse's side and moved ahead.

JLA smiled. She was a fiery one, he thought. The spark in her brought out something primeval in him and for a moment he allowed himself to think what it would be like to have those lips under his. With a wry smile, he galloped ahead.

'Malone, you take shotgun,' he said. 'We should be meeting up with JM soon.'

'Sure, boss,' Malone said, wheeling his horse around and heading to the back of the little caravan.

The sun was sinking to the West when they finally caught up with cattle train. JM rode over to him, and Jack told him the gist of what had just happened. They looked at the failing light around them and decided to make camp. It was at least another two hours to the homestead. It would be easier to stop here, than chase cattle in the dark. Besides they were well inside Circle-A property now. However, they had a wounded man to take care of and he needed a doctor badly. Tony had already been dispatched to Yerba to bring Doc back to the ranch.

The party split up for the night. Crawford and his daughter, and the wounded man would take one of the wagons, with JLA. JM and the rest made camp for the night.

JP grumbled at the extra dinner he had to cook.

* * *

Nana Anderson sat on her rocking chair on the porch of the Circle-A Ranch house. It was a big house that her husband had built, with logs he'd cut himself. It was a solid house, built to defend itself from attacks and now with the patina of age, it looked what it was a solid house that was her home.

Within these ranch house walls, the Andersons had raised their two sons, and once they'd gotten married, their grandchildren too. Grampa Anderson had passed away years ago.

Her younger son, Oliver, had moved to California, chasing the gold. He'd built a good life for himself out there, with his flighty wife, Lily, and their two children. They rarely came to visit.

Her older son and daughter-in-law had passed away, too. Taken by the flu. She'd built the ranch up from where it was. She'd raised her three little grandchildren, fiercely holding them to her heart. Not allowing the shadow of their parents' loss to sit on them.

At eighteen years, Jack had taken over, having learnt from her, and learnt well.

Jane **(Jane – Jack's older sister, I imagine her as Bella Thorne)**, the oldest, had found love and been married; and for a while life was wonderful. Until one day two years ago. She had come back to live with her Nana then, clinging to her little twin sons, who were barely a year old at the time they lost their father. Today they were their Nana's pride and joy.

Milton was the gentle soul. He'd always wanted to be a doctor. So he had studied the art of healing, and now, he lived in Yerba, dispensing medicines and consolation with equal compassion. For there were more deaths than diseases that he had to handle, there.

If there was one thing Nana regretted, it was how quickly Jack had to become a man. He had had no time to grow up. At fourteen he'd started relieving Nana of the day-to-day stress of running a ranch. At eighteen, he became the father the twins never had. They doted on their uncle 'Jackie'. At twenty-one, the ranch was now a flourishing business.

She wondered why Jack was late. Had something happened? Something always happens out there, she thought. She rocked in her chair, saying a silent prayer for her child's safety. Suddenly the creaking of wagons and the thunder of horses' hooves disturbed her solitary thoughts.

She stood near the steps to the ranch, peering out into the gloaming, trying to see who it might be. Jane heard the noise all the way from her room, and came right down to join her Nana.

"Nana, who could it be?" She asked, her pretty face scrunched up with worry.

Soon enough, they were able to make out JLA on his pale horse, followed by a woman and a wagon behind them.

"Who _is_ that?" Jane muttered.

Jack pulled up near the house, and swung out of his saddle. A few cowhands ran out from their bunkhouse and came over.

"What happened?" Jane ran down the steps, starting to hyperventilate. 'Who are these people?'

'They were going to Yerba and got attacked by some rogue Blackfoot,' he said. 'They've got a wounded man and I brought him here. Is Doc here already?' he asked.

"Milton? No, not yet," She shook her head, her pretty ringlets flying around his face.

Jack was disappointed, and grunted in reply. "I sent for him, he should be here soon."

"Bring them in, Jane," Nana said imperiously.

The cowhands helped the wounded man into the house. Nana instructed them on where to take him, and Chuck and Jane followed in pursuit. They helped the man into a bed. He was moaning in pain, the wound now taking on an angry look.

'What's your name?' Nana asked him gently.

'Hidalgo Alejandro Pablo Pascual Yago,' he mumbled.

'What?' questioned Nana, taken aback by the long name. 'What name do you go by?'

'Happy,' he smiled wanly. 'They call me Happy.'

Only JLA and the girl were left alone outside. He gestured at her to go in. As she climbed the steps, he said, 'Wait!'

She turned around, one foot on the stairs and raised her brows.

'What's your name?' he asked. 'I can't keep calling you ma'am.'

'Kim,' she said. 'Kim Crawford.' She turned around and started walking.

He caught up to her in two strides. 'You didn't ask me mine?' he asked, his voice dropping huskily, holding open the door for her.

'I already know, JLA,' she bit out, looking up at him, only now realizing how much taller than her he was, and how close he stood to her. She pressed back into the doorframe trying to put some distance between them. She put a foot in and stepped into his home.

'No, it's not,' he said behind her. She threw him a curious glance over her shoulder. 'It's Jack. My name's Jack.'

There was something in his eyes that made her drop her gaze. She turned away, hiding the soft curl of her lips, as she let the door shut behind her.

He put his hat back on his head, thinking for a moment, before he pushed open the door and went in, heading up to his room for a much-needed bath.


End file.
